OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


"  How  fair  the  simple  flowers  appear, 

If  hands  belov'd  the  garland  braid, 
And  friendship's  flowers  collected  here — 
Tho'  Springs  must  die — will  never  fade  /" 


MY  THREE  JEWELS 


AND 


OTHER  POEMS. 


LILIEN    WISE. 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


SAN  FRANCISCO: 

H.    S.    CROCKER    &    COMPANY, 

Printers  and  Stationers, 

1887. 


PAGE. 

MY  THREE  JEWELS  ....................  5 

GEMS  ...........    .   .............   .  8 

ALL  RIGHT  .......................   .  12 

FLORAL  FORTUNE-TELLER  ................  13 

ALPHABETICAL  ACROSTIC  .................  17 

Louis'  BIRTHDAY     ....................  19 

JERRY   ..........................  20 

To  Louis  ..........  ~'.-...   ...........  21 

HOME    .......................   ...  22 

EDUCATION  ........................  23 

MEMORY  .........................  25 

TIME  DESTROYS  EVERYTHING 

FORTUNE  FAVORS  THE  BRAVE    . 

HAROLD'S  BIRTHDAY 

LOVE 

HOPE 


TJ  IT  I  VI^RS'I  T  Y" 
" 


THE  BOYS 33 

ONE  TOUCH  OF  NATURE 35 

TIRED  MOTHERS 36 

THE  BABY 38 

MOTHER'S  BOYS 39 

To  THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  FATHER 41 

ROCK  ME  TO  SLEEP,  MOTHER 43 

ANSWER 45 

OUR  DEAD 46 

A  MOTHER'S  HEART 48 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

RETROSPECTION 49 

THE  EMPTY  CRADLE 50 

EYES 52 

THE  UNFINISHED  PRAYER 55 

AN  ORDER  FOR  A  PICTURE 57 

IF  WE  KNEW 61 

IN  THE  NEST 63 

LITTLE  FEET 64 

THE  SILVER  LINING 67 

SEVEN  TIMES  ONE 69 

THE  ESSENCE  OF  LIFE 71 

THE  SECRET  PRAYER     73 

IMAGINARY  EVILS 75 

ONLY  WAITING  ... 76 

EUGENE 78 

MONTEREY 79 

POWER  OF  SUCCESS 82 

DOWNHEARTED 83 

A  MOTHER'S  GIFT 84 

THE  GOLDEN  SIDE 86 

MERCY 88 

SHAKESPEARE'S  ADVICE 89 


4  » \y  1  b 


s, 


Three  Jewels  of  immortal  birth, 
Three  Jewels  bright,  of  priceless  worth, 
Three  Jewels  I  can  call  my  own, 
As  bright  as  ever  decked  a  crown. 
Each  Jewel  in  a  casket  lies, 
And  each  and  all  I  highly  prize. 

The  first,  a   "Diamond,"   sparkling  bright, 

Of  the  first  water  in  my  sight; 

And  though  six  years  I've  called  it  mine, 

I  scarce  begin  to  note  the  time, 

It  seems  so  short,  since  first  I  pressed 

The  darling  treasure  to  my  breast; 

And  ever  since,  with  tender  care, 

I've  fondly  smiled  to  see  it  there. 

The  second  is  a  lovely  "  Pearl," 
So  sweet  you'd  think  it  was  a  girl; 
The  world  could  not  produce  another, 
And  yet  it  is  the  Diamond's  brother. 
Oh,  such  a  Jewel!     All  that  see 
Think  'tis  the  finest  of  the  three. 


M}'   THREE  JEWELS. 

Then  who  can  chide  a  mother's  love, 
If  she  a  little  partial  prove  ? 
And  though  all  three  dwell  in  my  heart, 
The  "  Pearl  "  can  claim  the  largest  part. 

The  third,  a   "  Ruby  "   and  a  brother, 
The  very  image  of  its  mother, 
And  all  who  see  it  think  me  cruel, 
Because  'tis  not  my  fav'rite  Jewel; 
For  ev'ry  feature  of  the  elf 
Reflects  the  image  of  myself: 
Its  eyes,  its  mouth,  and  nose,  and  chin, 
And  e'en  the  color  of  its  skin; 
Its  ways  and  manners,  all  so  mild, 
Proclaim  the  mother  in  the  child; 
But  for  my  "  Pearl  "   I  feel  more  care, 
Because  I  see  its  father  there. 

Whatever  ills  of  life  betide, 
These  Jewels  rare  shall  be  my  pride; 
To  guard  them  and  to  keep  them  bright, 
Each  day  shall  be  my  chief  delight, 
And  ev'ry  prayer  I  send  to  Heav'n 
Shall  for  their  welfare  here  be  giv'n, 
That  when  time's  furrows  mark  my  brow7, 
They  then  may  shine  more  bright  than  now, 
And  in  my  last  declining  day, 
My  Jewels  light  me  on  my  way, 
And  'round  me  shed  their  hallowed  light, 
'Till  I  shall  bid  the  world  "  Good  night." 


MY   THREE  JEWELS. 

Three  Jewels  bright  to  me  were  giv'n, 
Three  Jewels  of  immortal  birth, 
But  one  has  been  recalled  to  Heav'n, 
And  two  are  left  with  me  on  earth: 
Three  links  united  by  my  love, 
Two  angels  here  and  one  above. 

Among  the  shining  hosts  above 

A  happy  cherub  there  I  see, 

My  darling  boy,  with  sacred  love 

And  beaming  eye,  smiles  down  on  me; 

Submissively  I  kiss  the  rod, 

And  give  my  darling  back  to  God. 

Though  of  my  dearest  hope  bereft, 
My  heart  in  saddest  mourning  lies, 
I'll  try  to  live  for  those  still  left, 
And  fit  them  also  for  the  skies; 
That  when  our  days  on  earth  are  o'er, 
We'll  meet  in  heav'n  to  part  no  more. 


errjs. 


A  Polish  superstition  holds, 

A  certain  gem  our  fate  controls; 

Each  month  a  gem  throughout  the  year 

Unfolds  to  us  our  life's  career. 

Through  custom  on  each  natal  day 

L,overs  nice  compliment  do  pay, 

Accompanied  with  present  fine 

In  which  the  natal  gem  doth  shine. 


GARNET.     CONSTANCY. 

This  stone  denotes  a  constant  mind, 
To  truth,  fidelity  inclined. 
All  born  this  month  may  fitly  claim 
This  splendid  fortune  and  the  name. 


AMETHYST.     PEACE. 

No  furious  passions  fill  the  breast, 
But  peace  gives  ever  constant  rest. 
If  in  this  month  your  birthday  be, 
No  sorrow  will  you  ever  see. 


GEMS. 


BLOOD  STONE.     COURAGE. 

If  born  in  March  your  courage  bold 
Through  dangers  great  will  life  uphold, 
And  ev'ry  enterprise  in  life 
Shall  bring  success  amidst  the  strife. 


DIAMOND.     INNOCENCP;. 

Innocent  of  guilt  or  harm, 
This  stone  shall  prove  a  constant  charm, 
The  brightest  gem  that  ever  shone, 
Innocence  and  this  precious  stone. 


EMERALD.     LOVE. 
In  May  the  emerald  doth  possess 
The  gift  of  love,  complete  success. 
Of  all  the  powers  be  this  one  thine, 
For  love  sincere  makes  man  divine. 


urje, 

AGATE.     LONGEVITY. 
The  agate  tells  long  life  and  health, 
Two  things,  'tis  said,  worth  more  than  wealth; 
For  with  the  body  full  of  pains 
What  good  is  all  the  rich  man's  gains. 


GEMS. 


RUBY.     FORGETFULNESS. 

Though  friends  prove  untrue  and  lovers  have  fled, 
L,earn  to  live  and  forget,  for  it  is  truly  said 
That  the  ruby  insures  you  a  cure  for  all  sorrow, 
If  you  are  jilted  to-day  you'll  forget  it  to-morrow. 


SARDONYX.     HAPPINESS. 

Thou  shalt  live  in  felicity,  joy  and  content, 
And  ne'er  know  the  sorrows  of  those  who  repent. 
This  stone  will  insure  you  felicity  great 
With  the  one  you  shall  claim  in  life  for  a  mate. 


CHRYSOLITE.     PROTECTION. 

This  stone  will  protect  from  the  follies  of  youth, 
And  insure  an  old  age  supported  by  truth; 
How  blest  to  look  back  o'er  your  life  and  remember 
You've  peacefully  lived,  by  your  birth  in  September. 


10 


GEMS. 


OPAL.     MISFORTUNE. 

Though  misfortune  o'ertake  you  and  shroud  you  in 

gloom, 

Hope  brightens  the  future  and  smiles  on  the  tomb; 
Though  life  be  all  darkness  and  fortune  may  frown, 
Hope  points  to  the  future  and  offers  a  crown. 


TOPAZ.     FRIENDSHIP. 

The  topaz  gives  fidelity  and  friendship  to  mankind, 
I'm  sure  no  better  jewel  in  the  casket  you  can  find, 
And  when  the  sere  November  of  your  life  has  come 

at  last 
These  will  seem  the  sweetest  virtues  of  the  manhood 

that  is  past. 


TURQUOIS.     SUCCESS. 

Success  shall  attend  the  turquois  stone 
If  worn  by  the  peasant  or  king  on  the  throne! 
Then  cherish  this  jewel  as  one  of  the  best; 
On  the  finger  of  diligence  ever  'tis  blest ! 


I  have  a  little  cherub  boy, 

His  eyes  are  dark  as  night, 
And  'tis  his  mother's  greatest  joy 

To  hear  him  say,  "All  right." 

But  nine  short  months  have  swiftly  flown, 

Since  first  he  saw  the  light, 
And  yet  in  baby  prattling  tone 

He  sweetly  says,  "All  right." 

The  dearest  wish  my  fond  heart  knows, 

Of  blessings  rich  and  bright, 
Shall  be  that  as  he  older  grows, 

He  still  shall  say,  "All  right." 

And  when  at  last  Time's  sure  decay 

Shall  dim  my  failing  sight, 
I'll  think  of  him,  as  now, 

And  say,  ' '  I  know  he  is  all  right. ' ' 


12 


OAK  GERANIUM.     FRIENDSHIP. 

How  sweet  it  is  to  know  we  have  a  friend 
On  whom  in  weal  or  woe  we  may  depend, 
For  friendship,  like  a  soothing  balm,  contains 
A  never  failing  cure  for  all  our  pains. 


HAWTHORN.     HOPE. 

Hope,  like  an  anchor,  doth  sustain, 
When  tossed  on  life's  tempestuous  main; 
It  gives  the  cloud  a  silver  lining, 
And  keeps  the  heart  from  sad  repining. 


HYACINTH.     FAITH. 

Faith  is  the  evidence  of  things  not  seen, 
It  makes  the  Christain's  life  on  earth  serene. 
Faith  scorns  to  hold  one  doubt  or  jealous  fear, 
But  full  of  trust,  confides  in  friends  so  dear. 

13 


FL  OR  A  L  FOR  TUNE-  TEL  L  ER. 


MYRRH.     GLADNESS. 

How  brightly  arises  the  day  star  of  gladness, 
Dispelling  the  gloom  that  surrounds  us  in  sadness, 
And  filling  the  heart  with  its  rays  of  delight, 
As  the  sun  brings  the  day  and  dispels  the  dark  night. 


STAR  OF  BETHLEHEM.     PURITY. 

Angels  are  robed  in  white,  and  purity  dwells  in  heaven ! 
Mistaken  souls;   no  boon  like  this  to  mortals  here  is 

given; 

The  best  of  earth  are  spotted  with  the  stain  of  daily  sin, 
And  naught  but  death  can  ever  make  erring  mortal 

clean. 


urje, 
DAILY  ROSE.     SMILE. 

How  sweetly  blooms  the  daily  rose  and  sheds  its  fra 
grance  'round, 

So  smiles  of  joy  should  wreath  the  lips  wherever  we 
are  found. 

A  smile  may  gladden  some  poor  soul  and  ease  their 
bosom's  pain, 

And  'twill  not  cost  you  but  a  thought  but  bring  you 
joy  again. 


FL  OR  A  L   FOR  TUNE-  TELLER. 


BITTER  SWEET.     TRUTH. 

Truth  is  the  mirror  of  the  mind,  revealing  all  within, 
It  shows  defects  of  every  kind  e'en  to  the  smallest  sin. 
"Truth  crushed  to  earth  will  rise  again"  and  conquer 

in  the  end; 
Then  make  the  truth  thy  constant  guide,  thy  ever 

faithful  friend. 


DAFFODIL.     CONTENTMENT. 

Contentment  of  mind's  a  continual  feast, 
The  great  may  possess  it  and  so  may  the  least 
It  belongs  to  the  young  just  as  well  as  the  old, 
But  it  cannot  be  purchased  with  silver  or  gold. 


BLUE  BELL.    SOLITUDE. 

The  wise,  the  learned  and  the  good  seek  solitude  to 

think, 

And  there,  in  meditation  deep,  of  solid  comfort  drink, 
And  from  seclusion's  secret  vale  bring  forth   some 

precious  flower, 
And  plant  it  in  life's  sunny  dale,  to  bloom  for  many 

an  hour. 

15 


FL  OR  A  L   FOR  TUNE-  TELLER. 


CHINA  ROSE.     GRACE. 

Elegant  manners  and  beautiful  form, 
Like  the  rose  among  flowers,  have  ever  a  charm 
Attracting  the  eye  —  and  cause  admiration, 
For  beauty  is  ever  the  queen  of  creation. 


FAME. 

The  height  of  man's  ambition  is  for  fame 

To  win  the  laurels  of  a  glorious  name. 

Though  death  should  stand  before  his  dauntless  eyes, 

He'll  face  the  monster  to  obtain  the  prize. 


AMARANTH.     IMMORTALITY. 

Immortal  man,  thy  soul  can  never  die, 
Although  thy  body  in  the  dust  must  lie. 
Immortal  life;  the  boundless  thought  is  great, 
That  man  should  rise  from  dust  to  God's  estate. 


1 6 


Abstain  from  alcoholic  drinks  of  every  name  and  kind; 
Beware  of  habits  that  debase  the  body  and  the  mind. 
Conform  to  nothing  that  yon  think  wicked  or  impo 
lite; 
Do  unto  others  what  yon  know  to  be  both  kind  and 

right. 
Engage  in  nothing  sinful,  e'en  to  please  your  dearest 

friend ; 
Folly  will   bring  its  own  reward,  and  punish  in   the 

end. 
Give  freely  to  the  poor,  for  thus  you're  lending  to  the 

Lord; 
Here  He  has  promised  in  return,  a  pure  and  great 

reward, 
In  ev'rything  you  think  and  do,  let  honor  be  your 

guide; 

Justice  and  truth  and  charity  be  evermore  your  pride. 
Kind  reader,    if  these  simple  rules  you  will   adopt 

through  life; 
Let  me  predict,  you'll  thus  avoid  all  ills  and  bitter 

strife. 
Morning  will  dawn  upon  you  then  with   pleasure  on 

its  wings; 

17 


A  LPHA  BE  TIC  A  L  A  CR  OS  TIC. 

Night,  too,  will  bring,  to  cheer  you  on,  so  many  happy 

things. 
Or  if  a  cloud  of  sorrow  should  envelop  your  bright 

way; 
Press  onward,   for  to-morrow  may  be  a  still  brighter 

day. 
Queens,  too,    and  Kings  their  troubles  have,   and  so 

have  you  and  I; 
Remember,  'tis  the  lot  of  man,  for  all  were  born  to 

die. 
Some  die  while  they  are  in  their  youth.     Perhaps  a 

happy  fate! 
To  others,  many  days  are  giv'n,  they  do  not  die  till 

late. 
Unto  all  sons  of  men  there  is  both   time  and  mercy 

given; 
Very    thankful    should    we    be    and    strive    to    enter 

heaven. 
When  we  reach   that  happy  place  where  the  weary 

are  at  rest; 
Xceeding  bright  and  fair  we  shall   be  there  forever 

blest. 
You'll  never  know   a   sorrow  and  will  never  feel  a 

pain; 
Zaccheus  found    the  certain  way  that  holy  land   to 

gain. 


18 


.©uis 

FEBRUARY  22,  1875. 


Six  years  ago  this  blessed  day 

A  little  angel  came 
And  nestled  in  my  loving  breast 

To  claim  a  home  and  name. 

With  joyous  heart  and  anxious  care 
I've  trained  his  tender  mind, 

And  year  to  year  each  natal  day 
New  buds  of  promise  find. 

His  prattling  tongue  and  sweet  embrace 

Repay  my  living  care, 
Life's  path  would  be  a  dreary  road 

Were  not  my  Louis  here. 

When  darkness  clouds  my  troublous  sky 
His  smiles  dispel  the  gloom, 

When  sorrow  chills  my  paling  cheek 
His  voice  brings  back  the  bloom. 

And  as  the  years  still  roll  along 
Bach  birthday  may  be  given 

That  voice,  those  smiles  to  cheer  me  on 
To  happiness  and  heaven. 


J 


© 


Alas!  poor  Jerry's  dead, 

His  days  on  earth  are  o'er, 
His  wagging  tail  and  laughing  eyes 

We  ne'er  shall  see  them  more. 

And  tho'  no  sculptured  stone 

Above  his  head  shall  rise, 
Although  no  weeping  friends  strew  flowers 

Above  where  Jerry  lies; 

Yet,  one  lone  heart,  at  least, 

His  death  will  long  regret; 
His  meekness  and  affection  sweet, 

She  cannot  soon  forget. 

And  tho'  his  humble  deeds 

In  hist'ry  will  not  live, 
At  least  one  humble,  grateful  lyre 

A  tribute  tune  will  give. 

So  rest  in  peace,  loved  Jerry, 

No  cares  disturb  thy  rest; 
For,  while  alive,  we  all  allow, 

Of  dogs  thou  wert  the  best. 


f  0    IS 


0ULS. 


In  memory  of  this  happy  day, 
I  write  a  little  roundelay; 
A  holiday  in  ev'ry  State; 
Birthday  of  Washington,  the  great. 

'Tis  not  of  him  I  wish  to  write, 
But  one  to  memory  jnst  as  bright; 
My  darling  son,  my  lovely  boy, 
My  pride,  my  hope,  my  life,  my  joy. 

Ten  years  have  winged  their  happy  flight, 
Since  first  my  lyouis  saw  the  light. 
Ten  years,  with  all  a  mother's  pride, 
To  store  his  mind  aright  I've  tried. 

And  now  to  make  this  day  more  dear, 
The  cherished  day  of  all  the  year, 
I  give  to  him  with  great  delight 
The  finest  present  in  his  sight. 

And  as  each  birthday  comes  around, 
Oh,  may  my  L,ouis  still  be  found, 
Growing  in  goodness  as  in  size, 
More  worthy  of  a  better  prize. 
FEBRUARY  22,  1879. 


21 


o 


How  dear  to  each  heart  is  the  memory  of  home, 

How  sacred  the  ties  that  still  bind  us; 
Though  far  from  its  threshold  in  life  we  may  roam 
Its  scenes  will  be  with  us  across  the  deep  foam 
And  in  joy  or  sorrow  will  find  us. 

There  is  not  in  this  world  a  spot  that's  so  sweet 

Or  so  free  from  all  sorrow  and  care 
As  to  make  us  forget  that  hallowed  retreat 
Where  brothers  and  sisters  in  kindness  did  meet 

And  our  father  and  mother  were  there. 

Sweet  memories  will  come  and  a  tear  will  oft  start, 

And  a  sigh  unbidden  will  rise,  [part 

And  we  long  for  those  pleasures  that  youth  did  im- 
And  those  fond  recollections  well  up  in  the  heart 
As  we  long  for  our  home  and  its  ties. 


22 


'A  babe  in  a  house  is  a  well-spring  of  pleasure" 

Sent  down  from  the  regions  above, 
We  hail  it  with  joy  as  the  heart's  richest  treasure, 

And  give  it  the  heart's  purest  love. 

Here  innocence  dwells  with  us  mortals  below, 

A  link  between  angels  and  men, 
The  holiest  blessing  that  God  can  bestow, 

But  e'  ef  long  He  will  claim  it  again. 

It  is  lent  to  us  here  as  a  talent  of  trust; 

Remember  'tis  lent  and  not  given; 
For  we  must  return  it  with  interest  just, 

For  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 

Though  a  babe  in  a  house  is  a  sacred  delight 

It  is  also  an  object  of  care, 
And  demands  our  attention  by  day  and  by  night; 

The  bitter  and  sweet  we  must  share. 

In  infancy's  hours  we  must  sow  the  first  seed, 

In  the  cradle  its  lessons  begin, 
Obedience  and  patience  at  the  breast  it  doth  feed, 

To  protect  it  from  folly  and  sin. 


EDUCATION. 

The  prayers  of  its  mother  it  will  not  forget, 

But  sweet  recollections  impart, 
And  the  memory  will  bring  it  no  after  regret, 

But  be  like  sweet  balm  to  his  heart. 

First  seeds  of  instruction  in  deep  furrows  fall, 

When  his  mind  is  plastic  and  soft; 
Then  instill  in  his  mind  as  the  noblest  of  all, 

Ambition  to  soar  up  aloft. 

If  you  wish  to  inscribe  on  life's  future  page 
Some  good  that  your  own  hands  have  done, 

Then  impress  on  his  mind  while  in  earliest  age, 
'Twill  appear  in  the  life  of  your  son. 

Thus  for  weal  or  for  woe  every  word,  act  or  look 

Is  written  in  characters  bold, 
To  be  read  in  the  future — the  author's  own  book, 

Then  write  it  in  letters 


'Tis  true  education  forms  everyone's  mind, 

Then  early  to  wisdom  attend, 
As  the  young  twig  is  bent  so  the  tree  is  inclined, 

The  good  shall  endure  to  the  end. 


24 


ff) 


e. 


[The  following  lines  were  suggested  by  an  invitation  to  attend  a 
reunion  of  pupils.] 

As  fond  memory  reverts  to  the  scenes  of  my  "youth, 
Though  in  far  distant  lands  I  now  roam, 

I  see  as  a  vision  in  the  mirage  of  truth, 
My  happy,  my  dearly  loved  home. 

And  Qh,  I  regret  the  great  distance  that  parts 

Me  from  the  reunion  of  friends, 
But  'tis  sweet  to  commune  with  the  past  in  our  hearts 

And  the  thought  that  with  memory  blends. 

My  teachers  and  schoolmates  I  think  of  with  pleasure, 
My  tasks  that  were  blended  with  play, 

All  dwell  in  my  heart  as  a  long-cherished  treasure, 
To  cheer  me  till  life's  closing  day. 

How  oft  I  have  sighed  to  be  young  once  again, 

To  enjoy  the  sweet  memories  of  old; 
But  alas,  they  are  passed,  and  the  wish  is  in  vain, 

Youth  cannot  be  purchased  with  gold. 

And  here  as  I  sit  in  my  cot  by  the  sea, 

And  hear  the  waves  beat  on  the  shore, 
I  think  of  the  past  and  what  still  is  to  be, 

Until  time  shall  know  me 

K£&S 

CFTHE 

TJHIVERSITY 

Of 


Time  waits  for  none,  but  onward  in  its  flight 
Turns  youth  to  age  and  morning  into  night; 
Along  its  track  destruction  may  be  seen, 
Where  scarce  a  vestige  tells  of  what  has  been. 
The  mighty  monarch,  whether  base  or  just, 
Soon  lowly  lieth  crumbling  in  the  dust; 
The  lofty  steeple  towering  to  the  skies, 
Yields  to  decay  and  soon  in  ruin  lies; 
The  noble  ship  that  plows  the  pathless  deep, 
Soon  will  be  wrecked  into  a  shapeless  heap. 
Thus  all  the  works  of  man's  ambitious  pride 
Are  swept  away  by  a  resistless  tide. 
The  statesman  labors  for  a  nation's  praise, 
But  Time  destroys  him  in  his  useful  days; 
The  poet  strives  to  win  a  deathless  fame, 
Passes  away  and  men  forget  his  name. 
The  glorious  things  of  earth  thus  pass  away, 
Devouring  Time  claims  all  things  for  his  prey. 
But  one  sweet  thing,  as  Time  itself  will  prove, 
Can  never  have  an  end,  and  that  is  love. 


I  give  you  a  motto  to  lead  you  through  life, 

Which  many  a  sorrow  will  save, 
No  matter  how  gloomy  or  bitter  the  strife: — 

"Fortune  will  favor  the  brave." 

Oh,  mariner  tossed  on  the  dark  stormy  sea, 
Your  vessel  engulfed  by  each  wave; 

Don't  give  up  the  ship,  tho'  all  others  may  flee, 
"  Fortune  will  favor  the  brave." 

Poor  trav'ler,  o'ertaken  by  night  and  by  storm, 
With  no  shelter,  perhaps,  but  a  cave  ; 

Remember  this  motto,  and  wait  for  the  morn, 
"  Fortune  will  favor  the  brave." 

Tired  merchant,  bow' d  over  your  papers  and  books, 
When  all  efforts  seemed  pow'rless  to  save, 

Be  steadfast,  no  matter  how  gloomy  it  looks; 
"  Fortune  will  favor  the  brave." 

Fond  mother,  heart-broken  with  sorrow  and  grief, 

Thy  jewel  just  laid  in  the  grave  ; 
Weep  not,  God  will  give  you  a  present  relief, 

' '  Fortune  will  favor  the  brave. ' ' 

Poor,  desolate  creature,  whoever  you  are, 
Though  forsaken — misfortune's  poor  slave! 

Hope,  kindled  by  faith,  be  thy  sure  guiding  star, 
"Fortune  will  favor  the  brave." 

27 


ri 


'Tis  just  one  year  ago  to-day;  oh,  blessed  morn, 
My  darling  little  Harold,  you  were  born; 
And  as  I  watch  you  playing  by  my  side 
My  heart  clings  to  thee,  with  a  mother's  pride. 

One  year  to-day,  with  happy  memories  fraught 
Of  happy  hours  my  baby's  presence  brought, 
A  constant  comfort  to  my  heart  has  given; 
My  baby  was  a  sacred  gift  from  heaven. 

His  faultless  form  and  face  divine,  to  me 
Are  all  a  mother's  fondest  hopes  can  be; 
And  the  bright  lustre  of  his  eyes  impart 
The  latent  brilliance  of  his  infant  heart. 

And  as  from  year  to  year  this  day  rolls  round, 
May  each  one  brighter  than  the  last  be  found; 
And  each  succeeding  birthday  hail  with  joy, 
While  heavenly  blessings  crown  my  darling  boy. 
AUGUST  31,  1873. 


28 


"A  volume  in  a  word,  an  ocean  in  a  tear," 

A  story  without  end  that  angels  love  to  hear, 

A  heaven  in  a  glance,  a  whirlwind  in  a  sigh : — 

The  word,  the  king  of  words,  the  word  that  cannot  die. 

What  concentrated  joy  there  is  in  blessed  love — 
The  heart's  own  sacred  music  caught  from  above; 
It  is  a  sweet  idolatry  enslaving  all  the  soul, 
The  devotion  of  the  heart  beyond  the  heart's  control. 

It  is  a  fragrant  blossom  that  ever  doth  impart 
Sweet  odors  that  do  gladden  the  garden  of  the  heart; 
It  is  the  brightness  of  affection,  and  ever  is  in  bloom, 
And  fadeth  not,  though  planted  by  the  silent  tomb. 

I  have  seen  its  budding  beauty,  I've  felt  its  magic 

smile, 
I  have  knelt  down  and  kissed  it,  and  laughed  and 

wept  the  while  ; 
I   thought  some  cherub  angel  had  planted  there  a 

flower 
To  nourish  for  awhile,  away  from  Eden's  bower. 

This   fragrant   flower,  when  blighted,  will   bud   no 

more, 

Or  shed  its  odors  sweet  on  Time's  unfruitful  shore; 
This  song,  when  once  forgotten,   cannot  be  learned 

again, 

The  heart  can  ne'  er  recall  the  sacred  heavenly  strain. 

29 


Ipl 


Hope  is  the  anchor  that  our  bark  must  save, 
While  tossed  upon  this  life's  tempestuous  wave; 
And  when  the  billows  loudest  round  us  roar, 
Hope  bids  us  cling  the  tighter  to  our  oar. 

Though  fortune,  health,  and  friendship  all  do  fail, 
Yet  hope  still  bids  us  spread  our  trembling  sail ; 
And  when  our  bark  the  storm  has  wrecked  at  last, 
Hope  finds  us  closely  clinging  to  the  mast. 

Frail  mariner  upon  the  sea  of  life — 

Thy  path  beset  with  sorrow,  care,  and  strife; 

When  troubles  come,  hope  soothes  thy  sad  repining, 

For  darkest  clouds  have  all  a  silver  lining. 

When  death  knocks  at  thy  door,  no  power  can  save; 
Hope  tells  thee  life  is  all  beyond  the  grave; 
Hope,  as  a  sovereign  balm,  to  us  is  given, 
To  heal  our  wounds  and  point  the  way  to  heaven. 


]3 


0s, 


Here  come  the  boys!     Oh,  dear,  the  noise, 
The  whole  house  feels  the  racket; 

Behold  the  knees  of  Louie's  pants, 
And  weep  o'er  Harold's  jacket ! 

But  never  mind,  if  eyes  keep  bright, 
And  limbs  grow  straight  and  limber; 

I'd  rather  lose  the  tree's  whole  bark 
Than  find  unsound  the  timber. 

Now  hear  the  tops  and  marbles  roll! 

The  floors — oh,  woe  betide  them! 
And  I  must  watch  the  bannisters — 

I  know  the  boys  who  ride  them! 

Look  well  as  you  descend  the  stairs — 

I  often  find  them  haunted, 
By  ghostly  toys,  that  make  no  noise, 

Just  when  the  noise  is  wanted. 

The  very  chairs  are  tied  in  pairs, 
And  made  to  prance  and  caper; 

What  swords  are  whittled  out  of  sticks, 
What  brave  hats  made  of  paper! 

33 


THE  BOYS. 

The  dinner  bell  peals  loud  and  well, 

To  tell  the  milkman's  coming, 
And  then  the  rush  of  steam-car  trains 

Sets  all  oiir  ears  a-humming. 

How  oft  I  say,  "  What  shall  I  do 
To  keep  these  children  quiet?" 

If  I  could  find  a  recipe, 
I  certainly  would  try  it. 

But  what  to  do  with  these  wild  boys, 

And  all  their  din  and  clatter, 
Is  really  quite  a  grave  affair — 

No  laughing,  trifling  matter. 

Boys  will  be  boys, ' '  but  not  for  long — 

Ah,  could  we  bear  about  us 
This  thought:  how  very  soon  our  boys 

Will  learn  to  do  without  us! 

How  soon  the  tall  and  deep-voiced  men 
Will  gravely  call  us  "  Mother!  " 

Or  we  be  stretching  empty  hands 
From  this  world  to  another. 

More  gently  should  we  chide  the  noise, 
And  when  night  quells  the  racket, 

Stitch  in,  with  loving  thoughts  and  prayers, 
While  mending  pants  and  jacket. 


34 


Y©ucl) 


© 


A  lark's  song  dropped  from  heaven, 

A  rose's  breath  at  noon, 
A  still,  sweet  stream  that  flows 

Beneath  a  still,  sweet  moon. 

A  little  way -side  flower 

Plucked  from  the  grasses  thus, 

A  sound,  a  breath,  a  glance,  and  yet 
What  is '  t  they  bring  to  us  ? 

For  the  world  grows  far  too  wise, 

And  wisdom  is  but  grief ; 
Much  thought  makes  but  a  weary  way, 

And  question,  unbelief. 

Thank  God  for  the  bird's  song 
And  for  the  flower's  breath, 

Thank  God  for  any  voice  to  wake 
The  old  sweet  hymn  of  faith. 

For  a  world  grown  all  too  wise — 

Or  is 't  not  wise  enough  ? 
Thank  God  for  anything  that  makes 

The  path  less  dark  and  rough. 


35 


A  little  elbow  leans  upon  your  knee — 

Your  tired  knee  that  has  so  much  to  bear; 
A  child's  dear  eyes  are  looking  lovingly 

From  underneath  a  thatch  of  tangled  hair. 
Perhaps  you  do  not  heed  the  velvet  touch 

Of  warm,  moist  fingers,  holding  you  so  tight; 
You  do  not  prize  this  blessing  overmuch  ; 

You  almost  are  too  tired  to  pray  to-night. 

But  it  is  blessedness!     A  year  ago 

I  did  not  see  it  as  I  do  to-day — 
We  are  so  dull  and  thankless  ;  and  too  slow 

To  catch  the  sunshine  till  it  slips  away. 
And  now  it  seems  surpassing  strange  to  me, 

That,  while  I  wore  the  badge  of  motherhood, 
I  did  not  kiss  more  oft  and  tenderly 

The  little  child  that  brought  me  only  good. 

And  if,  some  night,  when  you  sit  down  to  rest, 

You  miss  this  elbow  from  your  tired  knee — 
This  restless,  curling  head  from  off  your  breast — 

This  lisping  tongue  that  chatters  constantly  ; 
If  from  your  own  the  dimpled  hands  had  slipped, 

And  ne'er  would  nestle  in  your  palm  again  ; 
If  the  white  feet  into  their  grave  had  tripped, 

I  could  not  blame  you  for  your  heart-ache  then! 

36 


TIRED  MOTHERS. 

I  wonder  so  that  mothers  ever  fret 

At  little  children  clinging  to  their  gown  ; 
Or  that  the  foot-prints  when  the  days  are  wet, 

Are  ever  black  enough  to  make  them  frown. 
If  I  could  find  a  little  muddy  boot, 

Or  cap,  or  jacket,  on  my  chamber  floor; 
If  I  could  kiss  a  rosy,  restless  foot, 

And  hear  it  patter  in  my  home  once  more  ; 

If  I  could  mend  a  broken  cart  to-day  — 

To-morrow  make  a  kite  to  reach  the  sky, 
There  is  no  woman  in  God's  world  could  say 

She  was  more  blissfully  content  than  I. 
But,  ah  !  the  dainty  pillow  next  my  own 

Is  never  rumpled  by  a  shining  head  ; 
My  singing  birdling  from  its  nest  is  flown  ; 

The  little  boy  I  used  to  kiss  is  dead! 


X7NIVERSITY 


37 


Where  did  you  come  from,  Baby,  dear? 
Out  of  everywhere  into  here. 

Where  did  you  get  your  eyes  so  blue? 
Out  of  the  sky  as  I  came  through. 

Where  did  you  get  that  little  tear? 
I  fotmd  it  waiting  when  I  got  here. 

What  makes  your  forehead  so  smooth  and  high  ? 
A  soft  hand  stroked  it  as  I  went  by. 

What  makes  your  cheek  like  a  warm  white  rose? 
I  saw  something  better  than  anyone  knows. 

Whence  that  three-cornered  smile  of  bliss? 
Three  angels  gave  me  at  once  a  kiss. 

Where  did  you  get  that  pretty  ear? 
God  spoke  and  it  came  out  to  hear. 

Where  did  you  get  those  arms  and  hands? 
L,ove  made  itself  into  hooks  and  bands. 

Feet,  whence  did  you  come,  you  darling  things? 
From  the  same  box  as  the  cherub's  wings. 

How  did  they  all  come  just  to  you? 
God  thought  of  me  and  so  I  grew. 

But  how  did  you  come  to  us,  you  dear? 
God  thought  about  you  and  so  I  am  here. 


I  know  there  are  stains  on  my  carpet, 
The  traces  of  small,  muddy  boots; 

I  see  your  fair  tapestry  glowing, 

All  spotted  with  blossoms  and  fruits. 

I  know  that  my  walls  are  disfigured 
With  prints  of  small  fingers  and  hands, 

And  that  your  own  household  so  neat,  in 
Immaculate  purity  stands. 

I  know  that  my  parlor  is  littered 
With  many  old  treasures  and  toys, 

While  yours  is  in  daintiest  order, 
Unharmed  by  the  presence  of  boys. 

I  know  that  my  room  is  invaded 
Quite  boldly  all  hours  of  the  day, 

While  you  sit  in  yours,  unmolested, 
And  dream  the  soft  quiet  away. 

I  know  there  are  three  little  bedsides, 
Where  I  must  stand  watchful  each  night, 

While  you  can  go  out  in  your  carriage, 
And  flash  in  your  dresses,  so  bright. 

39 


MOTHER'S  BOYS. 

I  think  I'm  a  neat  little  woman — 

I  like  my  home  orderly,  too; 
I'm  fond  of  all  dainty  belongings, 

Yet  would  not  change  places  with  you. 

No!  keep  your  fair  home,  with  its  order, 
Its  freedom  from  bother  and  noise, 

And  keep  your  own  fanciful  leisure, 
But  give  me  my  three  splendid  boys! 


40 


I  had  a  father  once,  tender  and  kind, 

Who  in  his  feelings  and  affections  too, 

Was  gentle  as  a  woman — pure  and  true. 

A  mellow  radiance  beamed  ever  forth 

From  his  soft  eye — pure  as  our  native  skies, 

Speaking  the  language  of  a  generous  heart 

That  throbbed  within  his  breast;  no  stranger  passed 

Unnoticed  by  his  hospitable  board. 

His  hand  was  ever  ready  to  bestow 

Blessings  and  alms  upon  the  suffering  poor  ; 

And  thus,  by  generous  deeds  and  noble  acts, 

He  won  the  love  and  praise  of  every  heart. 

My  pen  would  prove  too  weak  and  frail  a  thing 

To  picture  all  the  virtues  of  his  soul — 

The  purity  and  honor  that  were  his. 

But  Death,  the  tyrant  monarch,  claimed  the  prize  ; 
He  set  the  icy  signet  upon  his  brow, — 
And  thus  he  marked  him  for  his  own. 
The  love-light  faded  from  his  eye  of  blue, 
The  beauteous  smile  that  ever  played  around 
The  rosy  lip,  vanished  at  Death's  touch. 

41 


TO    THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  FATHER. 

The  heart  that  beat  within  that  manly  breast, 

Whose  every  throb  but  counted  some  good  deed; 

Whose  impulses  were  great  and  noble — all 

Were  stilled,  and  stilled  forever. 

Remorseless  Death!    Thy  hand  hath  crushed  the  hopes 

Of  many  hearts,  like  fair  and  fragile  flowers 

Beneath  the  feet  of  the  great  destroyer — Time. 

My  father  !    Oh,  what  sunny  memories  cling 
Around  thy  spotless  name! 
Yes,  golden  memories  of  my  father  dear 
Will  ever  linger  in  this  wayward  heart — 
Breaking  like  sunbeams  through  the  clouds  of  life. 
The  recollections  of  thy  name  are  shrined 
In  sacredness,  and  kept  from  the  world's  gaze, 
And  ever  linked  with  my  sublimest  thoughts, 
Wakening  sweet  music  in  my  untaught  heart, 
Which  steals  upon  the  air  in  cadence  soft, 
Breathing  sweet  melody,  like  some  lost  strain 
In  wantonness  had  wandered  off  from  heaven. 


Backward,  turn  backward,  O  Time,  in  your  flight, 
Make  me  a  child  again,  just  for  to-night! 
Mother,  come  back  from  the  echoless  shore, 
Take  me  again  to  your  heart  as  of  yore ; 
Kiss  from  my  forehead  the  furrows  of  care, 
Smooth  the  few  silver  threads  out  of  my  hair; 
Over  my  slumbers  your  loving  watch  keep; — 
Rock  me  to  sleep,  mother, — rock  me  to  sleep! 

Backward,  flow  backward,  O  tide  of  the  years! 
I  am  so  weary  of  toil  and  of  tears; 
Toil  without  recompense,  tears  all  in  vain; 
Take  them,  and  give  me  my  childhood  again! 
I  have  grown  weary  of  dust  and  decay, — 
Weary  of  flinging  my  soul-wealth  away ; 
Weary  of  sowing  for  others  to  reap; — 
Rock  me  to  sleep,  mother, — rock  me  to  sleep! 

Tired  of  the  hollow,  the  base,  the  untrue, 
Mother,  O  mother,  my  heart  calls  for  you! 
Many  a  summer  the  grass  has  grown  green, 
Blossomed  and  faded,  our  faces  between: 

43 


ROCK  ME    TO  SLEEP,    MOTHER. 

Yet  with  strong  yearning  and  passionate  pain, 
Long  I  to-night  for  your  presence  again. 
Come  from  the  silence  so  long  and  so  deep; — 
Rock  me  to  sleep,  mother, — rock  me  to  sleep! 

Over  my  heart  in  the  days  that  are  flown, 
No  love  like  mother-love  ever  has  shown; 
No  other  worship  abides  and  endures, 
Faithful,  unselfish  and  patient  like  yours: 
None  like  a  mother  can  charm  away  pain 
From  the  sick  soul,  and  the  world- weary  brain. 
Slumber's  soft  calms  o'er  my  heavy  lids  creep; — 
Rock  me  to  sleep,  mother, — rock  me  to  sleep! 

Come,  let  your  brown  hair,  just  lighted  with  gold, 
Fall  on  your  shoulders  again,  as  of  old ; 
Let  it  drop  over  my  forehead  to-night, 
Shading  my  faint  eyes  away  from  the  light; 
For  with  its  sunny-edged  shadows  once  more, 
Haply  will  throng  the  sweet  visions  of  yore; 
Lovingly,  softly,  its  bright  billows  sweep; — 
Rock  me  to  sleep,  mother, — rock  me  to  sleep! 

Mother,  dear  mother,  the  years  have  been  long 
Since  I  last  listened  your  lullaby  song; 
Sing,  then,  and  unto  my  soul  it  shall  seem 
Womanhood's  years  have  been  only  a  dream; 
Clasped  to  your  heart  in  a  loving  embrace, 
With  your  light  lashes  just  sweeping  my  face, 
Never  hereafter  to  wake  or  to  weep; — 
Rock  me  to  sleep,  mother, — rock  me  to  sleep! 

44 


©>T.rSwep. 


My  child,  my  child!  thou  art  weary  to-night; 

Thy  spirit  is  sad  and  dim  is  the  light; 

Thou  wouldst  call  me  back  from  the  silent  shore, 

To  the  trials  of  life,  to  thy  heart  as  of  yore; 

Thou  longest  again  for  the  loving  care 

For  my  kiss  on  thy  lips,  my  hand  on  thy  hair; 

But  angels   around  thee,   their   loving  watch  keep, 

And  angels,   my  child,  will  rock  thee  to  sleep. 

Backward?  say,  Onward,  ye  swift  rolling  years; 

Gird  on  thy  armor!    Dry  up  thy  tears! 

Count  not  thy  trials,  nor  efforts,  in  vain, 

They'll  bring  thee  the  light  of  thy  childhood  again. 

Ye  should  not  weary,  my  child,  by  the  way, 

But  watch  for  the  light  of  that  brighter  day; 

Not  tired  of  ''Sowing  for  others  to  reap," 

For  angels,  my  child,  will  rock  thee  to  sleep. 

Nearer  thee,  now,  than  in  days  that  are  flown 
Purer  the  love-light  encircling  thy  home; 
Far  more  enduring  the  watch  o'er  thy  sleep, 
Than  even  earth  worship,  no  matter  how  deep. 
Soon  the  dark  shadows  will  linger  no  more, 
Nor  come  at  thy  call,  from  the  opening  door; 
But  know,  weary  child,  the  angels,  watch  keep, 
And  soon,  very  soon,  will  rock  thee  to  sleep. 

45 


(9 


Nothing  is  our  own;  we  hold  our  pleasures 
Just  a  little  while  ere  they  are  fled; 

One  by  one  life  robs  us  of  our  treasures; 
Nothing  is  our  own  except  our  dead. 

They  are  ours,  and  hold  in  faithful  keeping, 
Safe  forever,  all  they  took  away; 

Cruel  life  can  never  stir  that  sleeping, 
Cruel  time  can  never  seize  that  prey. 

Justice  pales,  truth  fades,  stars  fall  from  heaven; 

Human  are  the  great  whom  we  revere ; 
No  true  crown  of  honor  can  be  given 

Till  the  wreath  lies  on  a  funeral  bier. 

i 
How  the  children  leave  us!  and  no  traces 

Linger  of  that  smiling  angel  band; 
Gone,  forever  gone — and  in  their  places 
Weary  men  and  anxious  women  stand. 

Yet  we  have  some  little  ones,  still  ours; 

They  have  kept  the  baby  smile  we  know, 
Which  we  kissed  one  day,  and  hid  with  flowers, 

On  their  dead  white  faces  long  ago. 

46 


OUR  DEAD. 

When  our  joy  is  lost — and  life  will  take  it — 
Then  no  memory  of  the  past  remains, 

Save  with  some  strange,  cruel  stings,  that  make  it 
Bitterness  beyond  all  present  pains. 

Death,  more  tender-hearted,  leaves  to  sorrow 
Still  the  radiant  shadow — fond  regret; 

We  shall  find,  in  some  far,  bright  to-morrow, 
Joy  that  he  has  taken,  living  yet. 

Is  love  ours,  and  do  we  dream  we  know  it? 

Bound  with  all  our  heart-strings,  all  our  own  ? 
Any  cold  and  cruel  dawn  may  show  it 

Shattered,  desecrated,  overthrown. 

Only  the  dead  hearts  forsake  us  never; 

Ivove,  that  to  Death's  loyal  care  has  fled, 
Is  thus  consecrated  ours  forever, 

And  no  change  can  rob  us  of  our  dead. 

So,  when  fate  comes  to  besiege  our  city, 
Dim  our  gold,  or  make  our  flowers  fall, 

Death,  the  angel,  conies  in  love  and  pity, 
And,  to  save  our  treasures,  claims  them  all. 


47 


A  little  dreaming,  such  as  mothers  know; 

A  little  lingering  over  dainty  things; 
A  happy  heart,  wherein  hope  all  aglow 

Strikes  like  a  bird  at  dawn  that  wakes  and  sings — 
And  that  is  all. 

A  little  clasping  to  her  yearning  breast, 

A  little  musing  over  future  years; 
A  heart  that  prays,  "  Dear  Lord,  thou  knowest  best, 

But  spare  my  flower  life's  bitterest  rain  of  tears"  — 
And  that  is  all. 

A  little  spirit  speeding  through  the  night; 

A  little  home  grown  lonely,  dark  and  chill; 
A  sad  heart  groping  blindly  for  the  light; 

A  little  snow-clad  grave  beneath  the  hill — 
And  that  is  all. 

A  little  gathering  of  life's  broken  thread; 

A  little  patience  keeping  back  the  tears; 
A  heart  that  sings,  "Thy  darling  is  not  dead, 

God  keeps  him  safe  through  his  eternal  years. ' ' 
And  that  is  all. 


48 


OP  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


A  peaceful  home,  a  sun-lit  land, 

A  lad  that  careless  went  his  way; 
A  comfort  kind  on  every  hand, 

Each  wish  fulfilled  from  day  to  day; 
A  mother's  face,  so  wondrous  fair, 

A  mother's  love,  so  warm  and  true — 
But  youth  knew  not  its  treasures  there, 

And  sought  the  world  and  pleasures  new. 

A  score  of  years  (so  quickly  flown), 

Of  sorrows  dark,  of  pleasures  bright; 
A  lonely  mound,  a  simple  stone, 

With  "  Mother"  writ  in  letters  white; 
An  honored  man,  a  royal  fame, 

Ambition's  prize  on  every  side; 
A  princely  wealth,  a  lauded  name, 

And  all  that  flatters  human  pride. 

But  fame  was  hollow,  wealth  was  dross; 

Of  little  worth  the  pride  of  place; 
And  naught  could  compensate  the  loss- — 

The  ne'er- forgotten  mother's  face. 
He  learned,  as  learn  it  all  men  must, 

For  every  life  its  truth  doth  prove — 
The  brightest  gem,  the  dearest  trust 

Vouchsafed  to  man — a  mother's  love. 


49 


Sad  is  the  heart  of  the  mother, 

Who  sits  by  the  lonely  hearth, 
Where  never  again  the  children 

Shall  waken  their  songs  of  mirth, 
And  still  through  the  painful  silence 

She  listens  for  voice  and  tread; 
Outside  of  the  heart — there  only 

She  knows  that  they  are  not  dead! 

Here  is  the  desolate  cradle, 

The  pillow  so  lately  pressed, 
But  far  away  has  the  bird  ling 

Flown  from  its  little  nest. 
Crooning  the  lullabies  over 

That  once  were  the  babe's  delight, 
All  through  the  misty  spaces 

She  follows  its  upward  flight. 

Little  she  thought  of  a  moment 
So  gloomy  and  sad  as  this, 

When  close  to  her  heart  she  gathered 
Her  child  for  its  good-night  kiss. 

50 


THE  EMPTY  CRADLE. 

He  should  be  tenderly  cherished, 
Never  a  grief  should  he  know; 

Wealth,  and  the  pride  of  a  prince, 
These  would  a  mother  bestow. 

And  this  is  the  darling's  portion 

In  heaven — where  he  has  fled; 
By  angels  securely  guarded, 

By  angels  securely  led. 
Brooding  in  sorrowful  silence 

Over  the  empty  nest. 
Can  you  not  see  through  the  shadows 

Why  it  is  all  for  the  best  ? 


Q 


Sweet  baby  eyes 
They  look  around  with  such  a  grave  surprise, 

What  do  you  see  ? 

A  strange  new  world,  where  simplest  things 
Engender  wild  imaginings 

And  fancies  free  ? 
A  resting  place  that  is  not  home, 
A  paradise  wherein  to  roam, 

For  years,  may  be  ? 
O  placid,  wondering  baby  eyes, 
The  mystery  that  in  you  lies 

Oft  puzzles  me. 

Clear,  boyish  eyes, 
Whose  fearless  glance  unconsciously  defies 

Trouble  and  care; 
When  babyhood  is  past  and  gone, 
What  is  it  that  you  gaze  upon  ? 

A  land  most  fair; 
A  sunny  shore  with  pleasure  rife; 
And  that  great  glorious  gift  of  life 

'Tis  bliss  to  share, 

52 


EYES. 

O  happy,  trustful,  boyish  eyes, 
Let  sages  envy,  fools  despise, 
The  faith  you  wear. 

The  anxious  eyes 
Of  manhood,  slowly  piercing  earth's  disguise, 

Discover — what  ? 
That  life  at  best  is  quickly  done, 
That  hopes  fulfilled  and  wishes  won 

Are  dearly  got; 

That  shadows  chased  in  headlong  haste, 
And  golden  fruit  he  strove  to  taste, 

Delight  him  not. 

O,  restless,  doubting,  troubled  eyes, 
To  learn  in  sorrow  to  be  wise 

Is  manhood's  lot. 

Dim,  aged  eyes, 
Gazing  across  the  wreck  of  broken  ties, 

What  do  they  see  ? 

Behind — dead  leaves  that  withered  fall, 
A  fading  wilderness  where  all 

Is  vanity; 

Before — to  gladden  weary  sight, 
A  glimpse,  a  promise  of  the  bright 

Eternity. 

O  dim  and  tearful  aged  eyes, 
If  waiting  till  that  dawn  shall  rise, 

Blessed  are  ye! 

53 


EYES. 

And  angel  eyes, 
Who  have  their  dwelling-place  beyond  the  skies, 

Vainly  do  we 

Imagine  the  glories  they  must  know, 
Picture  the  Pearly  gates  aglow — 

The  crystal  sea 

For  brightest  visions  mortal  paint 
Of  that  celestial  country,  faint 

Must  ever  be. 
No!  pure  and  holy  eyes, 
We  can  but  pray  that  what  you  prize 

Our  own  may  see. 


54 


© 


[It  is  said  of  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS  that  he  never  went  to  bed  with 
out  repeating  this  little  prayer,  the  first  taught  him  by  the  mother  whose 
memory  was  so  dear  to  him  to  the  last.] 

Golden  head  so  lowly  bending, 

Little  feet  so  white  and  bare, 
Dewy  eyes,  half  shut,  half  open, 

Lisping  out  his  evening  prayer. 

"Now  I  lay" — repeat  it,  darling — 

"Lay  me,"  lisped  the  tiny  lips 
Of  my  darling,  kneeling,  bending 

O'er  the  folded  finger  tips. 

"Down  to  sleep" — "To  sleep,"  he  murmured, 

And  the  curly  head  bent  low; 
"I  pray  the  Lord" — I  gently  added, 

"You  can  say  it  all  I  know." 

"Pray  the  Lord" — the  sound  came  faintly, 
Fainter  still — "My  soul  to  keep." 

Then  the  tired  head  fairly  nodded 
And  the  child  was  fast  asleep. 

55 


THE    UNFINISHED  PRAYER. 

But  the  dewy  eyes  half  opened 
When  I  clasped  him  to  my  breast, 

And  the  dear  voice  softly  whispered, 
"Mamma,  God  knows  all  the  rest." 

O,  the  rapture,  sweet  unbroken, 
Of  the  soul  who  wrote  that  prayer! 

Children's  myriad  voices  floating 
Up  to  Heaven,  record  it  there. 

If  of  all  that  has  been  written, 

I  could  choose  what  might  be  mine, 

It  should  be  that  child's  petition 
Rising  to  the  throne  divine. 


(2/1 


UPd. 


O  good  painter,  tell  me  true, 

Has  your  hand  the  cunning  to  draw 
Shapes  of  things  that  you  never  saw? 

Ay?    Well,  here  is  an  order  for  you. 

Woods  and  cornfields_a  little  brown, — 
The  picture  must  not  be  over-bright, 
Yet  all  in  the  golden  and  gracious  light 
Of  a  cloud,  when  the  summer  sun  is  down. 
Alway  and  alway,  night  and  morn, 
Woods  upon  woods,  with  fields  of  corn 
Lying  between  them,  not  quite  sere, 
And  not  in  the  full,  thick,  leafy  bloom, 
When  the  wind  can  hardly  find  breathing- room 

Under  their  tassels, — cattle  near, 
Biting  shorter  the  short  green  grass, 
And  a  hedge  of  sumach  and  sassafras, 
With  bluebirds  twittering  all  around, — 
(Ah,  good  painter,  you  can't  paint  sound!) 
These,  and  the  house  where  I  was  born, 
Low  and  little,  and  black  and  old, 
With  children,  many  as  it  can  hold, 

57 


AN  ORDER  FOR  A  PICTURE. 

All  at  the  windows,  open  wide, — 

Heads  and  shoulders  clear  outside, 

And  fair  young  faces  all  ablush: 

Perhaps  you  may  have  seen,  some  day, 
Roses  crowding  the  self-same  way, 

Out  of  a  wilding,  wayside  bush. 

Listen  closer.     When  you  have  done 

With  woods  and  cornfields  and  grazing  herds, 

A  lady,  the  loveliest  ever  the  sun 
Looked  down  upon,  you  must  paint  for  me ; 
Oh,  if  I  only  could  make  you  see 

The  clear  blue  eyes,  the  tender  smile, 
The  sovereign  sweetness,  the  gentle  grace, 
The  woman's  soul,  and  the  angel's  face 

That  are  beaming  on  me  all  the  while, 

I  need  not  speak  these  foolish  words: 

Yet  one  word  tells  you  all  I  would  say, — 
She  is  my  mother:  you  will  agree 

That  all  the  rest  may  be  thrown  away. 

Two  little  urchins  at  her  knee 
You  must  paint,  sir;  one  like  me, 

The  other  with  a  clearer  brow, 
And  the  light  of  his  adventurous  eyes 
Flashing  with  boldest  enterprise: 
At  ten  years  old  he  went  to  sea, — 

God  knoweth  if  he  be  living  now; 
He  sailed  in  the  good  ship  "  Commodore," — 
Nobody  ever  crossed  her  track 

58 


AN  ORDER  FOR  A   PICTURE. 

To  bring  us  news,  and  she  never  came  back. 

Ah,  'tis  twenty  long  years  and  more 
Since  that  old  ship  went  out  of  the  bay 

With  my  great-hearted  brother  on  her  deck: 

I  watched  him  till  he  shrank  to  a  speck, 
And  his  face  was  toward  me  all  the  way. 
Bright  his  hair  was,  a  golden  brown, 

The  time  we  stood  at  our  mother's  knee: 
That  beauteous  head,  if  it  did  go  down, 

Carried  sunshine  into  the  sea ! 

Out  in  the  fields  one  summer  night 

We  were  together,  half  afraid 

Of  the  corn-leaves'  rustling,  and  of  the  shade 
Of  the  high  hills,  stretching  so  still  and  far, — 
Afraid  to  go  home,  sir;  for  one  of  us  bore 
A  nest  full  of  speckled  and  thin-shelled  eggs  ; 
The  other,  a  bird,  held  fast  by  the  legs, 
Not  so  big  as  a  straw  of  wheat: 
The  berries  we  gave  her  she  wouldn't  eat, 
But  cried  and  cried,  till  we  held  her  bill, 
So  slim  and  shining,  to  keep  her  still. 

At  last  we  stood  at  our  mother's  knee. 

Do  you  think,  sir,  if  you  try, 

You  can  paint  the  look  of  a  lie? 

If  you  can,  pray  have  the  grace 

To  put  it  solely  in  the  face 
Of  the  urchin  that  is  likest  me: 

I  think  'twas  solely  mine,  indeed: 

59 


AN  ORDER  FOR  A    riL'Tl'RE. 

But  that's  no  matter, — paint  it  so; 

The  eyes  of  our  mother — (take  good  heed) — 
Looking  not  on  the  nestful  of  eggs, 
Nor  the  fluttering  bird,  held  so  fast  by  the  legs, 
But  straight  through  our  faces  down  to  our  lies, 
And  oh,  with  such  injured,  reproachful  surprise! 

I  felt  my  heart  bleed  where  that  glance  went, 
As  though 

A  sharp,  blade  struck  through  it. 

You,  sir,  know 

That  you  on  the  canvas  are  to  repeat 
Things  that  are  fairest,  things  most  sweet, — 
Woods  and  cornfields  and  mulberry  tree, — 
The  mother,  the  lads,  with  their  bird,  at  her  knee: 

But,  oh,  that  look  of  reproachful  woe! 
High  as  the  heavens  your  name  I'll  shout, 
If  you  paint  me  the  picture,  and  leave  that  out. 


60 


If 


If  we  knew  the  woe  and  heartache 

Waiting  for  us  down  the  road, 
If  our  lips  could  taste  the  wormwood, 

If  our  backs  could  feel  the  load, 
Would  we  waste  to-day  in  wishing 

For  a  time  that  ne'er  can  be? 
Would  we  wait  in  such  impatience 

For  our  ships  to  come  from  sea  ? 

If  we  knew  the  baby  fingers 

Pressed  against  the  window  pane 
Would  be  cold  and  stiff  to-morrow — 

Never  trouble  us  again. 
Would  the  bright  eyes  of  our  darling 

Catch  the  frown  upon  our  brow  ? 
Would  the  print  of  rosy  fingers 

Vex  us  then  as  it  does  now  ? 

Ah!  those  little  ice-cold  fingers, 
How  they  point  our  memory  back 

To  the  hasty  words  and  actions 
Strewn  along  our  backward  track! 

61 


IF   WE  KNEW. 

How  these  little  hands  remind  us, 

As  in  snowy  grace  they  lie, 
Not  to  scatter  thorns,  but  roses, 

For  our  reaping  by-and-by  ! 

Strange  we  never  prize  the  music 

Till  the  sweet-voiced  bird  has  flown  ; 
Strange  that  we  should  slight  the  violets 

Till  the  Icvely  flowers  are  gone; 
Strange  that  Summer  skies  and  sunshine 

Never  seem  one  half  so  fair 
As  when  Winter's  snowy  pinions 

Shake  their  white  down  in  the  air! 


from  which  the  seal  of  silence 

None  but  God  can  roll  away, 
Never  blossomed  in  such  beauty 

As  adorns  the  mouth  to-day; 
And  sweet  words  that  freight  our  memory 

With  their  beautiful  perfume, 
Come  to  us  in  sweetest  accents 

Through  the  portals  of  the  tomb. 

Let  us  gather  up  the  sunbeams 

Lying  all  along  our  path; 
Let  us  keep  the  wheat  and  roses, 

Casting  out  the  thorns  and  chaff  ; 
L,et  us  find  our  sweetest  comfort 

In  the  blessings  of  to-day, 
With  a  patient  hand  removing 

All  our  griefs  from  out  our  way. 

62 


lr)  frje  F/esl 


Gather  them  close  to  your  heart, 

Cradle  them  on  your  breast;     . 
They  will  soon  enough  leave  your  brooding  care, 
Soon  enough  mount  youth's  topmost  stair, 

lyittle  ones  in  the  nest. 

Fret  not  that  the  children's  hearts  are  gay, 

That  the  restless  feet  will  run; 
There  may  come  a  time  in  the  bye  and  bye, 
When  you'll  sit  in  your  lonely  room  and  sigh 
For  a  sound  of  childish  fun ; 

When  you'll  long  for  the  repetition  sweet 

That  sounded  through  each  room, 
Of  "Mother,  mother,"  the  dear  love-calls 
That  will  echo  loud  in  the  silent  halls, 
And  add  to  their  stately  gloom. 

There  may  come  a  time  when  you'  11  long  to  hear 

The  eager  boyish  tread, 
The  tuneless  whistle,  the  clear,  shrill  shout, 
The  busy  bustle  in  and  out, 
And  pattering  overhead. 

Then  gather  them  close  to  your  loving  heart, 

Cradle  them  on  your  breast; 
They  will  soon  enough  leave  your  brooding  care, 
Soon  enough  mount  youth's  topmost  stair, 

L,ittle  ones  in  the  nest. 

63 


Itiffl 


e 


Two  little  feet,  so  small  that  both  may  nestle 

In  one  caressing  hand — 
Two  tender  feet  upon  the  untried  border 

Of  life's  mysterious  land. 

Dimpled  and  soft,  and  pink  as  peach-tree  blossoms, 

In  April's  fragrant  days, 
How  can  they  walk  among  the  briery  tangles 

Edging  the  world's  rough  ways  ? 

These  rose- white  feet  along  the  doubtful  future 

Must  bear  a  manly  load; 
Alas!  Since  man  has  the  heaviest  burden, 

And  walks  the  harder  road! 

L,ove,  for  awhile,  will  make  the  path  before  them 

All  dainty,  smooth  and  fair — 
Will  cull  away  the  brambles,  letting  only 

The  roses  blossom  there. 

64 


LITTLE  FEET. 

But  when  the  mother's  watchful  eyes  are  shrouded 

Away  from  sight  of  men, 
And  these  dear  feet  are  left  without  her  guiding, 

Who  shall  direct  them  then  ? 

How  will  they  be  allured,  betrayed,  deluded, 

Poor  little  untaught  feet! 
Into  what  dreary  mazes  will  they  wander, 

What  dangers  will  they  meet  ? 

Will  they  go  stumbling  blindly  in  the  darkness 

Of  sorrow's  tearful  shades  ? 
Or  find  the  upland  slopes  of  Peace  and  Beauty, 

Whose  sunlight  never  fades? 

Will  they  go  toiling  up  Ambition's  summit, 

The  common  world  above  ? 
Or  in  some  nameless  vale,  securely  sheltered, 

Walk  side  by  side  with  Love? 

Some  feet  there  be  which  walk  life's  track  unwounded, 
Which  find  but  pleasant  ways:' 

Some  hearts  there  be  to  which  this  life  is  only 
A  round  of  happy  days. 

But  they  are  few.     Far  more  there  are  who  wander 

Without  a  hope  or  friend — 
Who  find  their  journey  full  of  pains  and  losses, 

And  long  to  reach  the  end. 

65 


LITTLE    FEET. 

How  shall  it  be  with  him,  the  tender  stranger, 

Fair-faced  and  gentle-eyed, 
Before  whose  unstained  feet  the  world's  rude  highway 

Stretches  so  far  and  wide? 

Ah!  who  may  read  the  future?     For  our  darling 

We  crave  all  blessings  sweet, 
And  pray  that  He  who  feeds  the  crying  ravens 

Will  guide  the  baby's  feet. 


66 


JJi 


r)i 


r)0 


There's  never  a  day  so  sunny 
But  a  little  cloud  appears; 

There's  never  a  life  so  happy 
But  has  had  its  time  of  tears; 

Yet  the  sun  shines  out  the  brighter 
When  the  stormy  tempest  clears. 

There's  never  a  garden  growing 

With  roses  in  every  plot; 
There's  never  a  heart  so  hardened 

But  it  has  one  tender  spot; 
We  have  only  to  prune  the  border 

To  find  the  forget-me-not. 

There's  never  a  cup  so  pleasant 
But  has  bitter  with  the  sweet; 

There's  never  a  path  so  rugged 
That  bears  not  the  prints  of  feet; 

And  we  have  a  helper  promised 
For  the  trials  we  may  meet. 

There's  never  a  sun  that  rises 

But  we  know  'twill  set  at  night; 
The  tints  that  gleam  in  the  morning 

^  OF  THE 


THE  SILVER    LINING. 

At  evening  are  just  as  bright; 
And  the  hour  that  is  the  sweetest 
Is  between  the  dark  and  light. 

There's  never  a  dream  that's  happy 
But  the  waking  makes  us  sad; 

There's  never  a  dream  of  sorrow 
But  the  waking  makes  us  glad; 

We  shall  look  some  day  with  wonder 
At  the  troubles  we  have  had. 

There's  never  a  way  so  narrow 
But  the  entrance  is  made  straight; 

o 

There's  always  a  guide  to  point  us 
To  the  "little  wicker  gate;" 

And  the  angels  will  be  nearer 
To  a  soul  that  is  desolate. 

There's  never  a  heart  so  haughty 
But  will  some  day  bow  and  kneel ; 

There's  never  a  heart  so  wounded 
That  the  Saviour  cannot  heal; 

There's  many  a  lowly  forehead 
That  is  bearing  the  hidden  seal. 


68 


>evW)  Yirrjes  Urje, 


There's  no  dew  left  on  the  daisies  and  clover, 

There's  no  rain  left  in  heaven. 
I've  said  my    u  Seven  times  "  over  and  over — 

Seven  times  one  are  seven. 

I  am  old — so  old  I  can  write  a  letter; 

My  birthday  lessons  are  done. 
The  lambs  play  always — they  know  no  better; 

They  are  only  one  times  one. 

0  Moon !    in  the  night  I  have  seen  you  sailing 

And  shining  so  round  and  low. 

You  were  bright,  ah,  bright! — but  your  light  is  failing; 
You  are  nothing  now  but  a  bow. 

You  Moon,  have  you  done  something  wrong  in  heaven, 
That  God  has  hidden  your  face  ? 

1  hope,  if  you  have,  you  will  soon  be  forgiven, 

And  shine  again  in  your  place. 

O  velvet  Bee!  you  're  a  dusty  fellow — 

You  've  powdered  your  legs  with  gold. 

O  brave  marsh  Mary-buds,  rich  and  yellow, 
Give  me  your  money  to  hold  ! 

69 


SEVEN  TIMES  ONE. 

O  columbine!    open  your  folded  wrapper, 
Where  two  twin  turtle-doves  dwell! 

0  cuckoo-pint!  toll  me  the  purple  clapper 

That  hangs  in  your  clear  green,  bell! 

And  show  me  your  nest,  with  the  young  ones  in  it 
I  will  not  steal  them  away: 

1  am  old!  you  may  trust  me,  linnet,  linnet! 

I  am  seven  times  one  to-day. 


70 


1  l) 


Fair  are  the  flowers  and  the  children,  but  their  subtle 

suggestion  is  fairer; 
Rare  is  the  rose-burst  of  dawn,  but  the  secret  that 

clasps  it  is  rarer; 
Sweet  the  exultance  of  song,  but  the  strain  that  pre 

cedes  it  is  sweeter, 
And  never  was  poem  yet  writ,  but  the  meaning  out- 

masters  the  meter. 

Never  a  daisy  that  grows,  but  a  mystery  guideth  the 

growing; 
Never  a  river  that  flows,  but  a  majesty  scepters  the 

flowing; 
Never  a  Shakespeare  that  soared,  but  a  stronger  than 

he  did  enfold  him; 
Nor  ever  a  prophet  foretells,  but  a  mightier  seer  hath 

foretold  him. 

Back  of  the  canvas  that  throbs,  the  painter  is  hinted 

and  hidden; 
Into  the  statue  that  breathes,  the  soul  of  the  sculptor 

is  bidden; 

71 


THE   ESSENCE   OF  LTEE. 

Under  the  joy  that  is  felt,    lie   the  infinite  issues  of 

feeling; 
Crowning  the  glory  revealed,  is  the  glory  that  crowns 

the  revealing. 

Great  are  the  symbols  of  being,   but   that  which    is 

symboled  is  greater; 
Vast   the   create  and  beheld,   but  vaster  the  inwrard 

Creator; 
Back  of  the  sound  broods  the  silence,  back  of  the  gift 

stands  the  giving; 
Back  of  the  hand  that  receives,   thrill  the  sensitive 

nerves  of  receiving. 

And  up  from  the  pits  where  these  shiver, 
And  up  from  the  hights  where  those  shine, 

Twin  voices  and  shadows  swim  starward, 
And  the  essence  of  life  is  divine. 


72 


I  I}0  SDcCJ?cf    ff 


A  single  grateful  thought  towards  Heaven  is  the  most  perfect  prayer. 

It  was  a  still  and  silent  hour 

In  an  isle  on  the  southern  seas, 
And  slowly  the  shades  of  night  were  swept 

Away  by  the  morning  breeze, 
When  a  lowly  son  of  Britain  stood 

With  cheek  and  brow  of  care, 
Seeking  amid  the  solitude, 

A  place  for  secret  prayer. 

No  ear  to  hear  in  that  silent  glen, 

No  eye  but  the  eye  of  God, 
But  the  giant  fern  gave  back  a  voice 

As  forth  the  wanderer  trod. 
They  were  broken  words  that  met  his  ear, 

But  a  name  was  mingled  there, 
It  was  the  name  of  Christ  he  heard, 

And  the  language  of  secret  prayer. 

A  native  of  that  savage  isle 

From  the  depths  of  his  full  heart  cried, 
For  mercy,  for  help  in  the  hour  of  need, 

For  faith  in  the  crucified; 

73 


THE   SECRET  PRAYER. 

And  peace  and  hope  were  in  those  tones 

So  solemnly  sweet  they  were; 
For  He  who  answers  while  yet  we  call, 

Had  heard  that  secret  prayer. 

The  morning  dawned  on  that  lonely  spot, 

But  a  far  more  glorious  day 
Came  with  the  accents  of  prayer  and  praise, 

On  the  Indian's  lip  that  lay, 
The  first,  the  first  who  had  called  on  God 

In  those  regions  of  Satan's  care; 
The  first  who  had  breath' d  in  his  native  tongue, 

The  language  of  secret  prayer. 

And  he  who  that  hallow' d  music  heard 

The  missionary  lone; 
Oh!  the  joy  that  thrilled'thro'  his  yearning  heart 

By  a  stranger  may  not  be  known; 
But  he  knelt  and  blessed  the  hancfthat  sent 

In  the  hour  of  his  deep  despair, 
Comfort  and  strength  to  his  fainting  sotil, 

With  the  voice  of  that  secret  prayer. 


74 


I 


n^Qcnrjerpv 


Let  to-morrow  take  care  of  to-morrow, 
Leave  things  of  the  future  to  fate; 

What  use  to  anticipate  sorrow  ? 

Life's  troubles  come  never  too  late. 

If  to  hope  over-much  be  an  error, 

'Tisone  that  the  wise  have  preferred; 

And  how  often  have  hearts  been  in  terror 
Of  evils  that  never  occurred. 

Have  faith,  and  thy  faith  shall  sustain  thee, 

Permit  not  suspicion  and  care 
With  invisible  bonds  to  enchain  thee, 

But  bear  what  God  gives  thee  to  bear. 

By  his  spirit  supported  and  gladdened, 

And  ne'er  by  "  forebodings"  deferred — 
But  think  how  oft  heart  have  been  saddened 
Byjear  of  what  never  occurred. 

Let  to-morrow  take  care  of  to-morrow; 

Short  and  dark  as  our  life  may  appear, 
We  make  it  still  darker  by  sorrow — 

Still  shorter  by  folly  and  fear. 

Half  our  troubles  are  of  our  invention, 
And  often  from  blessings  conferred 

Have  we  shrunk  in  vague  apprehension 
Of  evils  that  never  occurred. 

75 


\Q 


Only  waiting  till  the  shadows 

Are  a  little  longer  grown, 
Only  waiting  till  the  glimmer 

Of  the  day's  last  beam  is  flown; 
Till  the  night  of  earth  is  faded 

From  this  heart  once  full  of  day, 
Till  the  dawn  of  heaven  is  breaking 

Through  the  twilight  soft  and  gray 

Only  waiting  till  the  reapers 

Have  the  last  sheaf  gathered  home, 
For  the  summer-time  hath  faded 

And  the  autumn  winds  are  come. 
Quickly,  reapers,  gather  quickly 

The  last  ripe  hours  of  my  heart — 
For  the  bloom  of  life  is  withered, 

And  I  hasten  to  depart. 

Only  waiting  till  the  angels 
Open  wide  the  mystic  gate, 

At  whose  feet  I  long  have  lingered, 
Weary,  poor,  and  desolate. 

76 


ONLY   WAITING. 

Even  now  I  hear  their  footsteps 
And  their  voices  far  away  : 

If  they  call  me  I  am  waiting, — 
Only  waiting-  to  obey. 

Only  waiting  till  the  shadows 

Are  a  little  longer  grown, 
Only  waiting  till  the  glimmer 

Of  the  day's  last  beam  is  flown; 
Then  from  out  the  folded  darkness 

Holy,  deathless  star  shall  rise, 
By  whose  light  my  soul  will  gladly 

Wing  her  passage  to  the  skies. 


Mother,  Dec.  j/,  1884. 


77 


uqene-. 


Tread  softly!   Let  no  sound  disturb  the  ear; 

Let  silence  reign  forever  here. 

A  hallowed  sweetness  rests  npon  this  spot; 

While  memory  lasts,  shall  never  be  forgot; 

And  every  object  lingering  nigh, 

Brings  back  his  image  to  my  eye. 

Oh,  may  these  memories  ever  last 

As  sacred  mementoes  of  the  past. 

I  sit  and  view  each  vacant  chair, 

And  fancy  paints  him  sitting  there; 

Nor  does  the  fancy  slumber  here, 

His  laugh  throughout  the  house  I  hear, 

And  echoes  from  his  youthful  voice 

Make  all  within  my  heart  rejoice. 

Be  still!     Oh,  do  not  break  the  spell, 

Nor  call  him  back  to  earth  to  dwell. 

No  brighter  star  from  God  was  given, 

No  brighter  gem  now  shines  in  heaven. 

Died,  Monterey,  Sept.  28,  1873. 


I  ask  no  brighter  Paradise, 

I  seek  no  fairer  land; 
There  is  no  purer  loveliness 

On  any  ocean  strand 
Than  this,  whose  shells  the  rarest 

I  cull  each  holiday — 
Surrounded  by  the  fairest 

Of  lovely  Monterey. 

I've  roamed  the  shores  of  Italy 

In  happy  infant  years; 
Whene'er  I  think  of  Ireland, 

Fast  fall  affection's  tears. 
But  still,  I  say  with  candor, 

Dissent  from  me  who  may, 
Thy  shores  are  fairer,  grander, — 

Embowered  Monterey. 

Fair  are  the  fields  of  Genoa — 
My  boyhood's  early  home, 

Its  castellated  terraces, 

Each  grand  majestic  dome 

79 


MONTE  REV. 

Before  my  mind  rise  clearly, 
Where'er  I  chance  to  stray, 

But  them  art  loved  more  dearly, 
Majestic  Monterey. 

The  roaring  of  the  Zuider  Zee, 

The  Leyden  loves  it  well; 
The  Roman  views  the  Tiber  banks 

With  thoughts  no  pen  may  tell, 
But  them  art  more  enchanting 

When  the  last  solar  ray 
Is  o'er  thy  waters  slanting — 

Romantic  Monterey. 

When  taken  by  necessity, 

For  freely  I'll  ne'er  leave, 
My  troubled  heart  in  bitterness 

With  saddened  sigh  must  grieve ; 
For  thy  fair  crescent  waters 

Where  I  so  love  to  stray 
With  some — thy  fairest  daughters, — 

Pacific  Monterey. 

The  waters  of  Niagara, 

With  great  majestic  roll, 
Has  filled  my  mind  eternally 

Without  my  heart's  control, 
But  thy  pure  peaceful  waters 

Must  be  to  me  alway, 
As  pleasing  as  thy  daughters — 

Angelic  Monterey. 

So 


MONTEREY. 

But  Bahia  Vista  Cottage 

Is  far  more  dear  to  me, 
Than  Ireland,  than  Italy, 

Than  roaring  Zuider  Zee, 
Than  all  the  sweets  of  Genoa, 

Than  Tiber's  yellow  spray, 
Than  all  thy  other  beauties — 

Enchanting  Monterey. 


81 


<£)  P       O 

wer  ©T   ©uccess, 


Laugh,  and  the  world  laughs  with  you; 

Weep,  and  you  weep  alone; 
For  this  brave  old  earth  must  borrow  its  mirth, 

It  has  trouble  enough  of  its  own. 

Sing,  and  the  hills  will  answer; 

Sigh,  it  is  lost  on  the  air; 
The  echoes  bound  to  a  joyful  sound, 

But  shrink  from  voicing  care. 

Rejoice,  and  men  will  seek  you, 

Grieve,  and  they  turn  and  go; 
They  want  full  measure  for  all  your  pleasure. 

But  do  not  want  your  woe. 

Be  glad,  and  your  friends  are  many; 

Be  sad,  and  you  lose  them  all. 
There  are  none  to  decline  your  nectared  wine, 

But  alone  you  must  drink  life's  gall. 

Feast,  and  your  halls  are  crowded; 

Fast,  and  the  world  goes  by. 
Succeed  and  give,  and  it  helps  you  to  live, 

But  no  man  can  help  you  to  die. 

There's  room  in  the  halls  of  pleasure 

For  a  long  and  lordly  train, 
But  one  by  one  we  must  all  file  on 

Thro'  the  narrow  aisles  of  pain. 

82 


Downhearted?  Pshaw  !    there's  seldom  seen 

A  lane  without  a  turning  ! 
Each  desert  has  a  spot  of  green, 

In  spite  of  bright  Sol's  burning. 
Yonr  friends  have  left  yon?  Well,  what  then? 

Remember  changing  Peter; 
Sorrow  has  tried  the  best  of  men, 

And  life  is  all  the  sweeter. 

What  adds  a  zest  to  summer's  joy? 

Is  it  not  a  winter  weary  ? 
Peace  would  be  tame  without  alloy, 

Past  grief  makes  solace  cheery. 
All  cannot  win  though  all  must  run 

When  once  life's  race  is  started: 
Yet  all  may  hear  the  words:  "  Well  done," 

So  never  be  downhearted. 


J\  Hoar's  ©iff. 


[Written  by  a  mother  on  the  fly-leaf  of  a  Bible — her  gift  to  a  son.] 


Remember,  love,  who  gave  thee  this, 
When  other  days  shall  come — 

When  she  who  had  thy  earliest  kiss, 
Sleeps  in  the  narrow  home; 

Remember,  'twas  a  mother  gave 

The  gift  to  one  she'd  die  to  save. 

That  mother  sought  a  pledge  of  love, 

The  holiest  for  her  son ; 
And  from  the  gift  of  God  above, 

She  chose  a  godly  one; 
She  chose  for  her  beloved  boy 
The  source  of  life,  and  light  and  joy. 

She  bade  him  keep  the  gift — that  when 
The  parting  honr  should  come, 

They  might  have  hope  to  meet  again, 
In  her  eternal  home. 

She  said  his  faith  in  that  would  be 

Sweet  incense  to  her  memory. 

84 


A  MOTHER'S  GIFT. 

And  should  the  scoffer,  in  his  pride, 
Laugh  that  fond  gift  to  scorn, 

And  bid  him  cast  his  pledge  aside 
That  he  from  youth  had  borne! 

She  bade  him  pause  and  ask  his  breast, 

If  he,  or  she,  had  loved  him  best. 

A  parent's  blessing  on  my  son 

Goes  with  this  holy  thing; 
The  love  that  would  retain  the  one 

Must  to  the  other  cling, 
Remember,  'tis  no  idle  toy, 
A  mother's  gift  —  REMEMBER,  BOY! 


UNIVERSITY 


©old 


er) 


There  is  many  a  rest  in  the  road  through  life, 

If  we  would  only  stop  to  take  it, 
And  many  a  tone  from  the  better  land, 

If  the  querulous  heart  would  make  it. 
To  the  soul  that  is  full  of  hope, 

And  whose  beautiful  trust  ne'er  faileth, 
The  grass  is  green  and  the  flowers  are  bright, 

Though  the  Winter's  storm  prevaileth. 

Better  to  hope,  though  the  clouds  hang  low, 

And  to  keep  the  eyes  still  lifted; 
For  the  bright  blue  sky  will  soon  peep  through, 

When  the  ominous  clouds  are  rifted. 
There  was  never  a  night  without  a  day, 

Or  an  evening  without  a  morning; 
And  the  darkest  hour,  so  the  proverb  goes, 

Is  the  hour  before  the  dawning. 

There  is  many  a  gem  in  the  path  of  life 
Which  we  pass  in  our  idle  pleasure, 

That  is  richer  far  than  the  jeweled  crown, 
Or  the  miser's  hoarded  treasure; 

86 


THE   GOLD  EX  SIDE. 

It  may  be  the  love  of  a  little  child, 
Or  a  mother's  prayer  to  heaven, 

Or  only  a  beggar's  grateful  thanks 
For  a  cup  of  water  given. 

Better  to  weave  in  the  path  of  life 

A  bright  and  golden  setting, 
And  to  do  God's  will  with  a  cheerful  heart, 

And  hands  that  are  ready  and  willing, 
Than  to  snap  the  delicate  minute  thread 

Of  our  curious  lives  asunder, 
And  then  blame  heaven  for  the  tangled  ends, 

And  sit,  and  grieve,  and  wonder. 


erc, 


"The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strain' d; 
It  droppeth  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven, 
Upon  the  place  beneath:  it  is  twice  bless' d; 
It  blesseth  him  that  gives,  and  him  that  takes: 
'Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest;  it  becomes 
The  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown: 
His  sceptre  shows  the  force  of  temporal  power, 
The  attribute  to  awe  and  majesty, 
Wherein  doth  sit  the  dread  and  fear  of  kings; 
But  mercy  is  above  his  sceptred  sway. 
It  is  enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  kings, 
It  is  an  attribute  to  God  himself; 
And  earthly  power  doth  then  show  likest  God's 
When  mercy  seasons  justice." 


s 


[The  following  selections  from  different  plays  giving  advice  to  young 
men,  are  copied  with  a  hope  that  mothers  will  deeply  impress  these 
noble  sentiments  on  the  minds  of  their  young  sons.  They  embrace 
counsel  and  direction  for  every  state  of  life  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave :] 

Hamlet. 

' ( Give  thy  thoughts  no  tongue, 
Nor  any  unproportipn'd  thought  his  act. 
Be  thou  familiar,  but  by  no  means  vulgar. 
The  friends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried, 
Grapple  them  to  thy  soul  with  hooks  of  steel; 
But  do  not  dull  thy  palm  with   entertainment 
Of  each  new-hatch'd  unfledg'd  comrade.       Beware 
Of  entrance  to  a  quarrel :  but,  being  in, 
Bear  it,  that  the  opposer  may  beware  of  thee. 
Give  every  man  thine  ear,   but  few  thy  voice: 
Take  each  man's  censure,  but  reserve  thy  judgment. 
Costly  thy  habit  as  thy  purse  can  buy, 
But  not  expressed  in  fancy;  rich,  not  gaudy, 
For  the  apparel  oft  proclaims  the  man; 
And  they  in  France,  of  the  best  rank  and  station, 
Are  most  select  and  generous,  chief  in  that. 

89 


SHA  KESPEA  RE' S  A  D I  'ICE. 

Neither  a  borrower,  nor  a  lender  be, 
For  loan  oft  loses  both  itself  and  friend; 
And  borrowing  dulls  the  edge  of  husbandry. 
This  above  all, — To  thine  ownself  be  true. 
And  it  must  follow,  as  the^nightjthe  day, 
Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man." 

AW s   Well  That  Ends   Well 

"Love  all,  trust  a  few, 
Do  wrong  to  none:  be  able  for  thine  enemy 
Rather  in  power  than  use;   and  keep  thy  friend 
Under  thy  own  life's  key:  Be  checked  for  silence, 
But  never  taxed  for  speech." 

Julius  Ccesar. 

"  There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men, 
Which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune; 
Omitted,  all  the  voyage  of  their  life 
Is  bound  in  shallows  and  in  miseries. 
On  such  a  full  sea  are  we  now  afloat, 
And  we  must  take  the  current  when  it  serves, 
Or  lose  our  ventures. ' ' 

Anthony  and  Cleopatra. 

"  We,  ignorant  of  ourselves, 

Beg  often  our  own  harms,  which  the  wise  powers 
Deny  us  for  our  good ;  so  find  we  profit, 
By  losing  of  our  prayers." 

90 


SHA  KESPEA RE'S   AD  VICE. 

Hamlet. 

"And  that  should  teach  us, 
There's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough-hew  them  how  we  will." 

u  In  the  corrupted  currents  of  this  world 
Offence's  gilded  hand  may  shove  by  justice; 
And  oft  'tis  seen,  the  wicked  prize  itself 
Buys  out  the  law :    But '  tis  not  so  above : 
There  is  no  shuffling,   there  the  action  lies 
In  his  true  nature;  and  we  ourselves  compell'd, 
Even  to  the  teeth  and  forehead  of  our  faults, 
To  give  in  evidence." 

Henry   VIII. 

UI  charge  thee,  fling  away  ambition; 
By  that  sin  fell  the  angels;  how  can  man  then, 
The  image  of  his  Maker,   hope  to  win  by't? 
L,ove  thyself  last;  cherish  those  hearts  that  hate  thee. 
Corruption  wins  not  more  than  honesty. 
Still  in  thy  right  hand  carry  gentle  peace, 
To  silence  envious  tongues.     Be  just,  and  fear  not. 
I,et  all  the  ends  thou  aim'st  at  be  thy  country's, 
Thy  God's,  and   truth's;  then,  if  thou   fall'st, 
Thou   fall'st  a  blessed  martyr!" 

Hamlet. 

"  Be  thou  chaste  as  ice,  as  pure  as 
snow,  thou  shalt  not  escape  calumny." 

91 


SHA  fCESPEA  RE'S    ADI  'ICE. 


Ju  I  hi  s 

*  '  My  heart  laments  that  virtue 
Cannot  live  out  of  the  teeth  of  emulation." 

Henry   VIII. 

"Men  that  make 

Envy,  and  crooked  malice,  nourishment, 
Dare  bite  the  best. 

If  I  am  traduc'd  by  tongues,  which  neither  know 
My  faculties  nor  person,  yet  will  be 
The  chronicles  of  my  doing,  —  let  me  say, 
'Tis  but  the  fate  of  place,    and  the  rough  brake 
That  virtue  must  go  through.     We  must  not  stint 
Our  necessary  actions,  in  the  fear 
To  cope  malicious  censurers;  which  ever 
As  ravenous  fishes,    do   a  vessel  follow 
That  is  new  trimm'd;  but  benefit  no   further 
Than  vainly  longing.     What  we  oft  do  best, 
By  sick  interpreters,  once  weak  ones,  is 
Not  ours,  or  hot  allow'  d;  what  worst,  as  oft, 
Hitting  a  grosser  quality,  is  cried  up 
For  our  best  act.      If  we  shall  stand  still, 
In  fear  our  motion  will  be  mock'd  or  carp'd  at, 
We  should  take  root  here  where  we  sit,  or  sit 
State  statues  only." 

Hamlet. 

"Meet  it  is,  I  set  it  down, 
That  one  may  smile,  and  smile  and  be  a  villain." 

92 


SHAKESPEARE'S  ADTTCE. 

Richard  III. 

"Ah  !  that  deceit  should  steal  such  gentle  shapes, 
And  with  a  virtuous  visor  hide  deep  vice!" 

Henry   17. 

"What  stronger  breast-plate  than  a  heart  untainted  ? 
Thrice  is  he  armed  that  hath  his  quarrel  just; 
And  he  but  naked,  though  locked  up  in  steel, 
Whose  conscience  with  injiistice  is  corrupted." 

Julius   Ccesar. 

"  Cowards  die  many  times  before  their  deaths; 
The  valiant  never  taste  of  death  but  once. 
Of  all  the  wonders  that  I  yet  have  heard, 
It  seems  to  me  most  strange  that  men  should  fear; 
Seeing  that  death,   a  necessary  end, 
Will  come,  when  it  will  come." 

Much  Ado  About  Nothing. 

"  Friendship  is  constant  in  all  other  things, 
Save  in  the  office  and  affairs  of  love: 
Therefore,  all  hearts  in  love  use   their  own  tongues. 
Let  every  eye  negotiate  for  itself, 
And  trust  no  agent:  for  beauty  is  a  witch 
Against  whose  charms  faith  melteth  into  blood." 

King  Henry  VI. 

"Let  never  day  nor  night  unhallow'd  pass, 
But  still  remember  what  the  Lord  hath  done." 

93 


SHAKESPEARE'S  ADVICE. 

Hamlet. 

"Confess  yourself  to  heaven; 
Repent  what's  past;  avoid  what  is  to  come." 

Henry  IV. 

"Oh,  gentlemen,  the  time  of  life  is  short; 
To  spend  that  shortness  basely,  were  too  long, 
If  life  did  ride  upon  a  dial's  point, 
Still  ending  at  the  arrival  of  an  hour." 


€          OF  THE  ^ 

IVERSITY) 
OF  S 


